Avant
by NightWatch24
Summary: The events leading up to the evacuations and just how Edmund gets to be so horrid.
1. Edmund's First Adventure

One.

Edmund's First Adventure

As far back as Edmund could remember, his older sister was bossy. Perhaps it is the prerogative of older siblings, though Peter had never surpassed her in this respect. But, Edmund was reminded of this tiresome fact again shortly after boarding the train. He had hardly settled into his chair and put his feet up when she snapped at him.

"Get your feet off the seat! We're not at home, you know!"

Though he was unaware it if, the real reason she was so contrary at the moment was because she was worried about being away from home. This was the first time the four Pevensie children went off on a train ride by themselves – though, as you may know, it would not be the last.

Ed glared at her and was slow to comply. Still, he was more excited than frightened by this trip. Watching the countryside flash by, he contemplated things. This was his first time for many things: the first time to visit Aunt and Uncle since he was too young to remember, and the first time to go on a long train journey. Father had a tour of lectures up north and mother was busy with her work at the charity, so the kids were being shuttled off to visit their relations. (Mother still received frequent letters from her sister, Aunt Alberta, but the kids rarely heard from her or their cousin Eustace.)

Still, Edmund was elated. For one it was a holiday from school, which is always cause to celebrate, also he had been reading Treasure Island lately and the prospect of leaving home and going on an adventure like Jim Hawkins had was compelling enough that he felt a quiet rush of excitement when they first left the station. Sure, there were no pirates in England, but there were always brigands. He then lost himself in a pleasant fantasy where they were set upon by fierce bandits and a fearless Edmund managed to fight them off. Peter, he allowed, would probably help some but he'd be busy trying to console Susan, who would be distraught. (This was actually unlikely, but he wanted to get back at her a little for snapping at him and anything is possible in one's fantasies, as I'm sure you know.)

Lucy brought him out of his heroic daydream as she leaned over him to look out the window. She had brought a book with her but, young as she was, boredom had set in and reading had grown tiresome.

"Move over, Ed, I want to look," she tried to nudge him out of the way.

"You didn't _want_ to see out the window," Ed reminded her. Earlier, Lucy had been frightened by how fast the train was going to go.

But Lucy, one day to be known as Queen Lucy the Valiant, would not have received her future title if a fast-moving train had kept her frightened very long.

"Scoot over," she complained. Unfortunately for her he had grown recently and was somewhat bigger than her – big enough that shoving did no good.

"No," he said, partly because it amused him to see her trying to hard to make him move and partly because he was a little irritated that she had interrupted his self-glorifying daydream. "You said you didn't want to." He repeated, grinning a little and not moving an inch.

"I do now. Move. Over." Each word was punctuated by valiant efforts on her part. They had no effect at all.

"Edmund, stop making trouble for Lucy," exclaimed Susan, irritated by their little quarrel.

"Come on, Lu," Peter broke in, "you can sit in my lap." Peter was also sitting by a window and until now had seemed unconscious of the sibling tiff going on. Sitting still for once – which was a minor miracle – he had been engaged in thoughts that were somewhat more mature than Edmund's daydream (though just as noble).

With a last angry stamp of her foot for Edmund's sake the little girl spun around and was hoisted to her older brother's comfortable arms. Peter was Lucy's favorite brother.

Edmund smirked at her and then returned his gaze out of the train window. But they were coming upon a village now and it was much harder to imagine brigands when all you see is quiet cottages, vegetable plots, and dairy cows. Soon, quite outside his intentions, he drifted off to sleep, his head falling drowsily to his shoulder, dark hair askew. It was not surprising as he had gotten up much earlier than a boy his age was accustomed to waking and the excitement of the journey had tired him.

So it was that Edmund slept through half of the very first adventure in his young life.


	2. Ears in the Dark

Two.

Ears in the Dark

The house of Uncle Harold and Aunt Alberta was not the one you may be familiar with from another story. This was a charming two-story house just outside the city with a large garden. In fact, it wasn't until Uncle Harold got his new job at the newspaper that they became vegetarians and tee-totallers and seemed to have misplaced their furniture somewhere. Also they moved into the city. (They had never been smokers to begin with so that didn't change at all.)

The Pevensies were welcomed quite warmly – if not a bit awkwardly- by Aunt Alberta and Uncle Harold. Cousin Eustace, understandably, hung back a little. He had very rarely had people come to stay at his house and he wasn't sure yet if he would like it. Furthermore, he was an only child and didn't really know what to do with other children around. For this reason perhaps you can excuse him for some of the mean-spirited things he said later on. (He did turn out all right in the end after all.)

For several days the four children were quiet and did their best to be polite and not be a nuisance. But children don't stay subdued very long and soon they were kicking a ball around the garden and playing Tag and generally enjoying themselves. They invited Eustace along but he, of course, refused and instead sat on the step to watch not knowing what to make of the noise and merriment and so alternating between disapproval and wistful longing.

The Pevensie children were meanwhile discovering that it was not such a bad thing to visit relations. Though Pete and Ed had to share a bed, as did Susan and Lucy, and they found some of the food a trifle peculiar (as all children think of food that is not from home). Yet they found their Aunt and Uncle were not exacting as they had feared and Eustace was too intimidated by their numbers to do any of the bullying he was later known for. And, as the good and polite children that the Pevensies were, they were beginning to enjoy themselves - up until the day that the news came.

It started with a call on the tele during dinner which Uncle Harold took in the parlor. He was still there as dinner finished and Susan and Peter helped Aunt Alberta clear the table. He was still there as the children trundled off to bed an hour later.

But, good as I'm sure you know the Pevensie children are, they could not keep from being curious. Peter was the worst of them. And because he was the eldest the others felt they were justified in following him to the head of the stairs and sitting quietly in the dark until their Uncle got off the tele.

They could just see Aunt Alberta's feet as she crossed the sitting room to take him some tea, observing as she quietly crossed back into the dining room where she took her own.

Susan was especially worried that the call was something terrible about mother and father and since she could not boss her siblings for fear of giving away their position she worried her lower lip instead.

Peter was very simply curious. But he was also bad at sitting still and was continually fidgeting in place, anxious to know what was happening and whether it was important. Lucy had fallen asleep. Her head was originally resting against Peter's shoulder but it kept getting jostled so Susan gathered her up so she would be more comfortable.

Edmund was mostly there because the others were. (Eustace, who did not understand the importance of being "in the know", was fast asleep in his bed.) Though Edmund was too sleepy to even think something might've happened to his parents he was old enough to want to be there if something novel or important occurred. Though in the end, he just about missed it.

Just as Ed was nodding off (he would've woken with a red mark on his forehead where he leaned against the banister), the parlor door creaked quietly open.

Susan looked up. Peter stopped shifting. All three looked at each other for a second.

Then they watched breathlessly as a pair of brown men's shoes crossed their line of sight; heard Aunt Alberta murmur a greeting in a concerned tone.

When it comes to being quiet in order to spy on the chaotic and important world of grown-ups there are none more skilled than children. As it became apparent that they would overhear very little unless their Aunt and Uncle raised their voices a little, Peter soundlessly crept down a few more stairs until he was halfway to the sitting room. The others remained as if frozen at the top. (Susan probably would've followed Peter but that would mean rousing Lucy.)

From the top they could hear only more murmuring. Peter's unmoving form gave away nothing and in the dim light his face was but a shadow. Then:

"Are you sure?" That was Aunt Alberta.

Uncle Harold's reply was low and pacifying. Susan was hugging Lucy so tightly that the little girl made a quiet sound of protest.

"I suppose the kids will have to go back home now," their Aunt continued fretfully. "And Eustace, I hope –," but Uncle Harold shushed her and they heard nothing more.

Peter came ghosting back up the stairs. In silence he motioned for the others to follow him and first Susan, carrying Lucy, then Edmund, trailing, came as quietly as they could until they were securely in the girls' room.

Susan put Lucy to bed where she blinked a few times hazily and then went back to sleep.

The three elder children looked at each other and Edmund felt a dash of pride knowing that he was finally grown enough to be included in one of these older-sibling conferences.

Peter spoke in a whisper. "The call was from a friend of Uncle's in the army somewhere on the coast. I guess he was the first to get wind of it, but it'll probably be in the papers tomorrow."

"What?" demanded Susan, louder than she'd intended.

Peter answered gravely. "War."


	3. Eustace Opens His Mouth

Three.

Eustace Opens His Mouth. 

As they lay side by side in the dark that night the Pevensie boys were both having trouble sleeping – though for different reasons entirely.

Peter Pevensie was still youth enough the find the idea of pitched battle exhilarating. He had visions of himself upon a white horse cutting down a great multitude of faceless, yet menacing, enemies. These visions were silly perhaps (he would certainly think so after he had seen his first real battle) but that night they were warming thoughts. Edmund had had his daydreams on the train ride and now Peter was having his - and they were just as pleasant to him as Edmunds had found his own to be, so that he was lulled into quiet dreams.

Edmund, for the first time since climbing aboard a train to go and visit his Aunt and Uncle, was feeling homesick. If you have ever tried to sleep in a bed that is not your own while the uncertainty of war looms in the near future then you will know just how the boy Edmund was feeling. More than anything he was wishing to be back home, curled contentedly by the fire with his father in the next room and his mother on the sofa with her stitching.

It seemed terribly drafty in the room he shared with Pete and he tried very hard to remember the smells of home and the taste of hot tea. Though he would hardly admit it (he was a boy after all) he really was wishing for a bit of comfort at the moment. With these distressing feelings he drifted into a doze and from a doze into a fitful sleep and so slept until morning.

Peter, it turns out, was correct in his prediction.

It was on the front page: spelled out in great black letters. (Su even sat down and read the article.) Fortunately the Pevensie children were saved from having to pretend surprise or concern, Eustace did it for them.

"Mummy, why is there a war? Will they take our house? What's going to happen? Are we going to die?" Eustace's shrilly voice followed their Aunt around the kitchen.

Aunt Alberta made little effort to answer these questions. She merely patted her son's shoulder and went about fixing breakfast. This is something you may have observed before in grown-ups: when frightening things happen they just keep doing the same old ordinary things. They do this because it keeps them calm and is somewhat reassuring. Children like it much better to have a good cry – which is exactly what Lucy was doing. And for once Susan didn't scold her about it, only petted her hair a little until she'd calmed down.

Edmund woke in a grumbly mood. He hadn't slept well and the faint effects of homesickness were still with him. He took his breakfast silently and tried to ignore Eustace, who was getting annoying. As for Peter, he could hardly wait to get back to playing ball in the garden, so that Aunt Alberta finally sent them all out of doors. And that was that.

They left for home two days later, but not before Peter and Edmund had a troubling conversation with Eustace.

Eustace deserves some brief introduction. The past two days he had spent in some eavesdropping of his own. Now he was full to bursting with important information and no one to share it with. Also, he had been irritated for some time by his lack of authority among his cousins (being an only child he was accustomed to getting his way) and now he finally had a chance of "getting his own". For a moment he considered popping in on Susan and Lucy but he was a little frightened of Susan so he ended up sauntering up to Peter and Edmund's room instead.

The two boys were inside, busy packing their cases. Clothing was strewn about and there had been a recent argument over a pair of lost socks.

Eustace took all of this in for a moment. Then, his eyebrows lifting as he said it, he repeated the juiciest bit of information in as superior tone as he could muster. "You do know your father's been called up don't you?"

The brothers turned to face him.

"What do you mean?" asked Peter.

"I mean Uncle George has been called up by the army and he's going to go and fight in the war." At the stricken look from his two cousins Eustace knew his words had had the desired effect. "Of course," he continued, "no need to make a big soddy deal out of it. Wouldn't want you to worry your mum any. _You're_ not crybabies." (Eustace was, himself, something of a crybaby.) "I'm sure the War will be _perfectly_ safe."

To be fair, if Eustace had thought for one second that his Uncle George could come close to dying he never would've said such a cruel thing. But he was just as ignorant as his cousins and to him the War was still just a game with an exciting name and a whole lot of importance.

"Oh, sod off!" Peter jumped forward angrily and Eustace took off like a jackrabbit (likely to the safety of his mother).

Back in the room, Ed and Pete looked at each other, knowing they were both feeling terribly worried, of a sudden. But, brothers that they were, neither wanted to say anything and so after a moment they turned silently back to their packing. This time there were no quarrels over lost socks.

Edmund thought of his mother. With an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach he considered how upset she would be. He thought of his fathers' uniform, the one hanging in the upstairs closet for when he marched with the reserves. More than ever Ed wished for a grown-up to tell him everything was all right.

But before long his thoughts brought him again to his mother. Up until now she had been merely his mother, that ever constant presence. But now, he thought of how distressed she would be, how consumed with worry. Then, with surprising ferocity, he was overwhelmed by affection for her. If you have never wanted to sacrifice your own feelings for the sake of another then perhaps you can't quite understand the sudden change in Edmund. But he felt, overwhelmingly, that from now on he would want nothing for himself, vowing that he would be the most help and the least amount of trouble that he could be.

Strengthened by this new resolution the boy hefted his overlarge trunk off the bed and tugged it downstairs to the door.

Peter, it must be admitted, had quite forgotten about mother for the moment (though he was ever so attentive when they returned home, so perhaps he can be excused). Though he was but a youth, his father's leaving had thrust him suddenly to the head of the family. Sure he had looked after them before, mostly Lucy, but always in a brotherly fashion and with the overriding authority of mother and father. He became a little more of a man in that moment. Though the thought of taking care of his family scared him a little he found that the fear steadied him, made him more alert. It was as if someone had dumped a bucked of cold water over his head and now he could see and hear all the better.

Lifting his own trunk he followed Ed down the stairs. He took a moment to survey his siblings: Susan, Edmund, and Lucy, gathered as they were at the door waiting for Uncle Harold to bring the car around to take them to the train station. With the welling of an emotion in his chest that he did not yet recognize as pride (and pride that is unrecognized is a very humble kind of pride), Peter made his own vow to look after them with every bit of himself that he could.

And with that Peter, Edmund, Susan, and Lucy left their Aunt and Uncle's house to return to their own snug home in Finchley.


	4. A Quiet Holiday

**Thanks to TimeMage0955 for my very first review!!!**

Four.

A Quiet Holiday

For some precious few days following, the Pevensie family experienced a kind of peace. It wasn't _quite_ restful because they were all now expecting more talk of the War at every turn. And it wasn't _quite_ peaceful either, for that matter. Even the train station when they arrived was full of grown-ups rushing about with more anxiety than the four children had ever seen before. They could even pick out the strange addition of some few men in uniform.

When they met, Mother spoke in cheerful tones. Father was silent, pensive.

"How was your trip, dears? Did you like visiting your Aunt Alberta?"

"Yes, mum, they made us eat beets!" Even aware as she was of some grown-up tension, Lucy could not keep from announcing this important fact. "They turned our fingers red and I helped Aunt Alberta pull them up from the garden, and…" Beets were rarely seen in the Pevensie household. Father disliked them.

"How did you like your cousin Eustace?" Mother asked.

Lucy made a face. "He was _boring._" She said this as though it were a crime. "And his ears stuck out like a giraffes!"

Most children would associate large ears with an elephant but ever since the unfortunate incident of Lucy getting her hands on a children's encyclopedia she had grown a fascination for giraffes. She liked their horns, she said, and their long tongues and prickly expressions. Ever since, anything that amused her had been likened to a giraffe.

Lucy had continued her discourse. "And he didn't want to play ball with us, anyway…and, and, _anyway,_ so Peter asked him if he _ever_ played games and he said…" though the narrative was bewildering there was more than enough enthusiasm to make up for it.

"I thought he was a little spoiled," Susan interjected her professional opinion. (All of her opinions were professional.)

"Did you boys get on all right?" Mother asked. Peter was preoccupied, trying to carry Lucy's trunk and his own while following his father, unconsciously imitating the swing of his step. "Just don't have him over next holiday," he said between breaths.

"He's a dreadful prig, and –," Edmund caught himself before giving away what Eustace had divulged just before they left. However much of a git their cousin was, Edmund wasn't one to tattle. Also, he didn't want to upset mother and the cruel words of Eustace would be sure to do so.

"I thought Uncle Harold was alright, though." Peter was saying. "He had some great stories about the University." Peter was thinking more about college these days. He had a running list of the sports he wanted to join including rugby, polo, and rowing. He wasn't a bad swimmer either.

"Aunt Alberta told me about when you were growing up," Susan said to mother. "How you went swimming down at the lake and your friend Toby went poling on a raft and got it stuck out in the middle."

The children were full of new stories to share and were animated in the telling, thrilled by their novelty, so that the suspended gloom of the future was all but erased. It didn't last very long, though. That night after supper Peter pulled father aside.

"Dad," he said seriously, and Edmund, who had good ears, paused from reading his book in the next room. "Is it true then? Have you really been called up to go and fight in the War?" Edmund half wished his brother hadn't asked but Peter preferred to be direct when something was bothering him. The crackling of the fire seemed to grow silent as Ed listened for his father's response.

"Yet, Peter, it's true. I suppose your Uncle Harold told you?"

"More or less," Peter didn't tattle either, just on principal.

"I'm to report tomorrow morning, maybe find out when we ship out. Don't worry about it now, Peter." This was accompanied by an affectionate hair tousle that Peter received gravely. "I'll tell you if there's anything to worry about."

Edmund had his doubts about this and from his expression he guessed that Peter did also. Unhappily he turned back to his book, Gullivers Travels, but found he could no longer enjoy it. He tried for a while, then rose and clomped off to bed early.

'Would this War ever stop disrupting things?' he thought.

Just as he'd said, father had gone the next morning early to check in with the other reserves. By the time Edmund was up, Peter and Lucy were already in the kitchen with a surprising air of party about the room. The kettle sung with fresh tea. The toast was surprisingly unburned and when the cooking was done by Peter that was truly saying something. Lucy was chattering amiably in between reading aloud the cooking article from the Morning Post.

"Mix in flour," she proclaimed loudly and it was apparent that half the fun was in the telling. It was equally apparent that Peter wasn't actually going to attempt making scones. Lucy continued anyway, "…and _fold_ in eggs. Then stir, stir – _Peter!_ – you stir it all together until…"

"Don't be silly, Lu, you can't fold eggs, they'd crack."

"Shows what you know about cooking," Edmund said, entering.

"And stir until the constituency…uh consistency…of – oh! Peter, you'll burn the bacon!"

Peter scrambled to rescue the smoking bacon while an unpleasant burnt smell filled the kitchen. Even that couldn't stop the room from feeling cheery though. The window was half open to let in a cool spring breeze. Susan routinely slept late and wasn't up yet.

"Where's mum?" asked Edmund, biting into a crispy piece of toast.

"Well," began Lucy, and Ed prepared himself for lengthy prattle, "this morning mum woke me up and said Peter and I would have to fix breakfast this morning, there was somewhere she had to go early and don't worry if she wasn't back by lunchtime, and also that dad was going with her. They left rather quickly after that so I went and woke up Peter and he thought we should have bacon and toast and tea, and then we found we had eggs so we had to have eggs as well."

Edmund surmised that mother had gone with father, and so he resisted pointing out that Lucy hadn't actually answered his question.

Peter had begun to sing loudly and off-key, trying to wake Susan up who slept in the room directly above and Lucy was shrieking with laughter, goading him on. Edmund preoccupied himself with shoving down as much eggs and bacon (still a little burnt) that he could get. He had been growing lately and couldn't seem to stop eating.

Peter's singing went up an octave and in a moment they heard a muffled thud overhead that let them know Susan was up and shortly after that she was in the kitchen enlightening Peter about when the proper times were for waking people, and the proper methods for doing so.

And so, in many ways, the holidays were peaceful, even cheerful. The children got on with a degree of normalcy such that it was difficult to imagine a great and terrible War was brewing. But the cheer, such as it was, was not destined to last.


End file.
